The Cracks In My Bathroom Mirror
by TheGoatsOfTruthAreEatingGrass
Summary: It's nicer to forget about little old me. Dumbledore says that it's because no-one understands. I say it's because no-one wants to hear about something broken that can't be fixed. My name is Myrtle. Do you want to hear a ghost story? A/N. PAST, PRESENT AND A SLICE OF WHAT'S TO COME FOR THE GIRL THAT NEVER HAD A FRIEND.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N **__**I just think that every character deserves a story. They each had one, A story: A life, a family, friends, laughs and tears... And that every story deserves to be told. Even if it's ending doesn't look good.**_

_**Dedicated to Myrtle, **_

_**P.S. I would never throw a book at you.**_

_**-Enjoy this. Disclaimer (and I'm only putting it once because it can get tedious to repeat): J .K. Rowling wrote the Harry Potter Books and owns the character of Myrtle. **_

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**Introduction:**

You know that I have decided what the greatest thing about life is; that no matter what is happening now, good or bad: it will always change. I've seen it, again and again. Situations work themselves out, the happy become sad and lonely but then awhile later they get a bright little flash that makes them grin and laugh and dance. And then one day everything is okay again.

Change.

You see, that's how I know that I am not alive. Not really. Not really at all. Because for me nothing will ever change, I do not laugh. I do not smile and I can not dance.

For I am dead.

No, that's a lie... I suffered a fate much worse than death. I'm merely here, In the bathroom that I used to come to when I wished I _would_ die. Oh the irony. You'll laugh I'm sure. Most people laugh; and point; and smirk.

They do it with their friends. 'Entertainment' even. They made me sick. Not physically of course, never physically... but it's still there in my head, with everything else.

Welcome to my frozen life. Or My frozen death depending on how full your cup is.

I'm a ghost. But people like to forget that I wasn't always. Professor Dumbledore told me once that they do it because they don't understand, but they wouldn't if they could remember what i do. What I'll always remember.

But _he_ doesn't like to remember either, when he walks about his school. He doesn't like to think about little old me, sitting in my bathroom away from the living and yet still among them. No-one wants to think about something they can't fix.

Eventually everyone stops trying to find ways to say 'everything is going to be okay', and the worst feeling in the world is seeing in their eyes that they can't mean it anymore.

My name is Myrtle.

Do you want to hear a ghost story?

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_**A/N: There we go. Read and Review.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N I did some research on Myrtle so that i made sure i got the facts right, but the pretty bits in between are all me. So, Enjoy looking into Myrtle's brain. And tell me what you think.**_

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I heard the sound of the door go as someone burst in. I stopped crying and lifted my head holding my breath as I removed my dry hands from my tearless face. I stayed in my favourite cubicle, which recently has been the one on the furthest side from the door.

I heard breathing in my room and the anxious shuffle of feet. My eyes narrowed into slits. Who is in the bathroom? _my_ bathroom? I bit my lip and rushed to where they were, sniffling angrily. I admit i enjoyed that look of fear in their eyes when I used my full speed to jump out at them. I looked out for it and always tried to get to them quicker and quicker purposefully trying to freak them out.

Well, I only give them what they ask for.

I turned the corner and saw 4 Gryffindor first years, all pretty little girls. One of them cowered a little at my sudden appearance and I felt a little burst in my chest, fresh anger and a sick happiness.

'What are you doing in here?' I asked icily. My hands fisted at my thighs. I don't know why seeing students always got me so mad. I had such an easy temper these days. I waited for them to speak.

Speak, or run. Either.

One of the girls grinned at me. I backpedalled. What?

Then I realised I'd misunderstood who the grin was aimed at. She turned her grin to her friend, the cowering one, 'I TOLD you it was true. My brother always said it was this bathroom that was haunted and as proof there is moaning myrtle so.. in your face' then she turned and ran out.

I felt my eyes burning a little. I glared at the remaining three, 'GET OUT!' I screamed at them.

They froze.

I rushed at them pulling on my practised and fiercest look as I came at them.

They ran.

I watched the door as it swung closed behind them and the clatter it made as it brushed the door frame, its hinges whining at the students repetitive force against it. My glare faltered after a few seconds after I was sure they wouldn't be back and I bit my lip hard.

Moaning Myrtle. Moaning. I hate Peeves, he invented that stupid name about 10 years ago and sang it as he floated round the corridors.

_'Moan-ing Myr-tle,_

_Moan-ing Myr-tle_

_sleeping in the toi-lets_

_with a face like a turtle,_

_Moan-ing Myr-tle_

_Moan-ing Myr-tle'_

Stupid Peeves. Oh how I hated him. So the nickname still existed, and I was still a joke. The students thought the nickname was clever just because it had alliteration and all they saw me do was mourn my life. Well they should try being killed and stuck into a school by the ministry as punishment for haunting the girl who was at fault.

I rushed back into my favourite cubicle. It was the second day of the new school year; i should have seen that coming. There always were some First years that had to come and see if the rumours were true. So I gave them a scare and normally that meant they didn't come back.

Hopefully that meant that they never came back.

Hopefully.

I sighed as I traced flowers into the cubicle door with my finger. I wish I had a pen and some paper. I'd stupidly left it in the astronomy tower yesterday in my rush to get back to my bathroom on the first floor when I'd heard that the students were arriving. I didn't like students seeing me outside my bathroom, and I sure as hell didn't want them in here making a mess of my room.

In the holidays when all the horrible students go home, and I mean the best holidays when ALL the students have to go home. At the end of the school year, Hogwarts school is the best place to be for a ghost trapped somewhere. It never gets old and boring because there are just so many secrets that people are never really around long enough to figure out.

That's the time I leave my bathroom and come out. This year when a single hour had passed without students in the castle I left my bathroom and went to the library. I missed the warm golden glow in the library - it was such a contrast to the sickly pale creamy blue in my bathroom.

I smelt the books more out of habit than the ability to actually smell them anymore; books had a really fine subtle scent, the old ones I mean, and I could only just smell it faintly when I was alive. Unfortunately in this ghost-like form I lost the sharpness of my senses. Well, except my eyesight- but that's always been pretty bad- Well, kind of.

I wore thick-rimmed black glasses that sat comfortably on my nose. In life, had I taken them off, anything that was more than a few metres away blurred at it's edges. But in death, I took my glasses off and my eyesight remained intact. It was weird, confusing even. Professor Dumbledore had said a lot of confusingly unhelpful things about it like how when I 'passed' from living to ghost my eyes had pinned the eyesight I had in the glasses as my own and saved my vision like a strange error in copy and paste in ghost form. He wasn't exactly sure though, but I didn't really understand his theory much anyway. I'd been a bit depressed while he'd explained.

Anyway, now I just wore the glasses out of familiarity. These were the glasses that had effectively led me to my death of course. Plus, I looked unlike myself without them on, and I missed the comfortable feeling of them on my nose. I didn't want new ghost vision. I wanted my old sight back- Along with my old living life while we're making hopeless wishes, and wearing my glasses let me forget even slightly how different things were.

I'd sat in the empty library and read a few books about a variety of things. Mostly I spent all term thinking of questions I wanted to know the answer to and things I didn't understand then I would research it at the end of term when no-one was around to gawk and point and sneer.

I left the library after a while, when the ghost of Ravenclaw House came in. Her presence annoyed me. I remembered her from when i attended Hogwarts myself, i was in her house and she often roamed about talking to students and offering advice to the troubled. She never offered said advice to me. She always gave me a guilty look when she saw me now.

She should have. she could have helped me. She always looked like she wanted to say something to me but she never did and now whenever i saw her she gave me the same look but i always left before she could get to me.

Professor Dumbledore had suggested that I took time to get to know her, that perhaps I would find that we held more similarities than differences and that perhaps I would find a friend in her. But I swiftly told him to butt out, that I don't want to get to know people and I certainly didn't have some desperate need for friends like he seemed to insinuate. I was perfectly fine with my toilet.

I had a rough experience in the way of friends and personally I reckoned they were more trouble than they were worth. And i certainly didn't need her with her pitying looks and her frowning face and her thinking pout.

I spent a lot of the rest of the holidays in the astronomy tower with some charmed pens and paints. I had shyly asked Professor Dumbledore if he would charm the paint brushes and pens so they could be held and used by me. He had beamed at me and I knew that he was pleased that I had decided to do something new and different with my holiday instead of just roaming and reading.

'I've heard of such charms actually Myrtle, I assure you by the end of the week I'll have the brushes and pens ready for you.' and then he grinned at me happily and walked off almost skipping slightly.

He kept true to him word and at the end of the week he'd somehow charmed loads of paintbrushes and pens for me. He'd brought me new paints and some canvas' and wished me a merry Christmas.

I was shocked. It was the first Christmas gift I'd received in 14 years. I grinned and thanked him shyly, then I realised that i couldn't accept it because I hadn't gotten him anything. When I told him this he chuckled and shook his head, 'and how were you to purchase me a gift Myrtle?' he challenged.

He had a point of course, I couldn't leave the grounds and I couldn't knit or sew. There was nothing I could give him. I grinned at him and wished him a Merry Christmas. The first time I'd said it in a long while. So I'd used those paintbrushes regularly since then.

But the art of using them was hard, they were hard to pick up and control and make jerky movements on the canvas- but i was grateful that I could pick them up at all. I was so happy.

But then, like I'd said, I'd left them STUPIDLY in the astronomy tower. Some stupid kids were probably going to come along and throw them out the window or something. Stupid children.

That's what made me want to cry before, but all I could do was wail and moan- because ghosts can't physically cry. I mean, we cry but no actually tears come out. That's probably why it was appropriate that i was called moaning myrtle.

I know i can't have tears and i think it's one of the main things i miss from my life. Odd as it sounds, to me, Crying is like vomiting. When your ill and you feel sick you always feel much better after you actually vomit. It's how i want to cry.

I want the bubbling sadness and horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach to just leave, but it won't because i can't actually cry. I wail, but it's not the same. I just want to get it over with. But I can't. And that hurts the most.

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_**A/N So surprise, surprise, Myrtle actually has some depth. **_

_**Tell me what you think. By the way I'm going to take you into her past, and then after the war- with the new head teacher Miss McGonagall. **_

_**It's pretty canon until it gets to the bits past the books. Just to let you know.**_

_**Tell me what you actually think of Myrtle, I mean knowing what you do now. **_


End file.
